I am a professional. Esteemed amongst my colleagues. It was not without some small amount of hubris that I started a new post with an ancient and most revered organization. It was a very old and staid company of substantial influence in our heretofore unnamed profession.
So there I was, my dear, tasty readers, a brand-new member of the ‘group’ and I, yes I, was invited to the cottage of extreme opulence to witness the national tournament spectacle. I was just a mere, lowly employee of the organization, yet I held a rare golden ticket!
It was early morning. The cock had crowed thrice as the sun rose above the misty greens. The old ones had a magnificent breakfast laid out in the other room, reminiscent of “Age of Innocence” style splendor. I partook of some sumptuous Beetus, and I proceeded to take a seat at the big table in the oak-paneled estate room with my esteemed and wizened peers.
We chatted a bit, but I was a trifle off guard, I never saw it coming, and then, like a savage murderous raptor from Jurassic Park she ‘snuck’ up on me. She did that weird, confrontational female executive Denzel Washington forced eye contact dominance stance-thing. It was very creepy.
“Hi, welcome to the cottage. How are you? Make sure you get out and see the tournament!”
I tried to make small talk, but she immediately became defensive and evasive. Her evil little eyes narrowed to snake-like slits. Who was I, a mere peasant to ask her about her job? Creepy. She just stood there staring, like an evil Princess Leah.
So I chatted a bit more with my peers, just to save face. I finished my breakfast and I went to get a coffee before I headed out onto the grounds.
She crept in on me again. I could feel her cold, icy, soulless stare. I poured my coffee.
“Make sure you get out and see the tournament, OK?”
She did the forced head nod, where an executive assumes a position of psychiatric dominance to Jedi-Mind-Trick you into nodding along with them.
I walked the estate for about an hour. It was wet underfoot and very humid. I thought about the strange encounters with the Chasey Lady. Why did she choose me out of all the other employees to be so eviscerate my very soul?
I wound my way back to the cottage to use the sanitary facilities. She eyed me suspiciously from her crow-like demonic perch as I walked by. O Lysander! O Herakles! Ye hideous be-snaked Gorgon of ancient myth! Hie thee hence! O Medusa! I hid in the water-closet as long as I could suffer it. I then slowly emerged from the lavatory, thinking in vain that the coast was clear when…
“Did you see the tournament? There’s a lot more to see. You should really get out there.”
I noticed that she wasn’t Shitlording any of the other employees, even the new ones, solely me. I nodded and I left the cottage again, heaven forgive I break some secret protocol. I came back in an hour. I took a seat in a comfortable aged chair by the fireplace, next to the big-screen TV. I was the only one there. But soon, dear readers, I felt an icy presence.
“So, maybe you shouldn’t sit here. The big boss likes to sit here. You see this space is where he likes to sit and he wouldn’t like it if people are hanging around.”
I didn’t see a soul within miles, so I thought it odd, but OK, maybe some quirky etiquette, of which I was unaware, but she didn’t shoo anyone else away. However, it so being the case, dear friends, I arose and exited the cottage again. ‘Very strange circumstances’, I pondered. I wandered outside for another hour and then I returned for the lunchtime repast. I sat at the common table and I was just about to eat, when…
“So it’s nice outside, you should probably go out onto the veranda to eat your lunch and not stay in here.”
Great Scott! I thought. Wasn’t I a guest of the elders of the company? Why was I being so unceremoniously ejected from the cottage like some filthy derelict Sterno drinking shit-covered vagrant? Was she a hydra-like Cerberus to guard the very gates of Hades? No one else received this bilious Phil-Spectorian ‘Wall of Hate’ and Shitlording.
O mighty Zeus! O noble Hera! What hath the vengeant gods wrought? Thus I went outside, resigned to eat al Fresco like a shitty beggar of the French Revolution. I thought I was finally alone, in delicious solitude when she attacked again like a spectre of legendary doomsday.
I seized my plate while she was distracted by some guests returning from the greens, and I made good my escape to the back of the cottage. I became engrossed in a pleasant conversation with an older gentlemen when there, I looked up and like a Hob’s End style Devil’s Head of Woodrow Wilson! An evil, savage, disembodied head rose above the fiery apocalyptic scene … there she was!
She was peering around the corner, like the wicked, slimy Gollum. I picked up my plate and I crept deep into the back yard of the cottage. When…
I looked up at the kitchen window and she was staring at me like a mangy Cheshire Cat. The very Eye of shitty Sauron! I actually hid behind a giant old hoary oak tree. Me, a grown man! An esteemed professional, yet I was forced to hide behind a tree! O Tennyson! O Whitman! Together they could not express the shame and horror.
Was she entirely mad? Was she mortal or a demon belched from the fiery Cunt of the underworld? What in the bowels of fiery hell? Was she obsessed by the dark ones?
I walked the grounds for another hour or so and then I decided to make good my leave. Unfortunately, I was required by fate to exit through the very cottage itself, a building now alive like the swamp and foreboding like Poe’s House of Usher. I raced through the cottage from back to front to escape her evil, shocking grim reaper grasp.
She spotted me, despite her being in mid-conversation with ‘important’ people, and she raced towards me with a fury borne of ancient hell-fire. I ran out of the front of the cottage like the winged head of bold Hermes and off to the awaiting shuttle bus.
Sung to the tune of a 70’s ballad:
“I met the ‘Chasey Lady’,
she really loved to chase me.
she was a special lady,
she couldn’t help but chase me.”
It was sheer harrowing terror! The fabulous horror! What an utterly vile and humiliating way for such a freakish goblin to treat a respected professional.
I now walk the halls of the ancient society in terror of the lurking doom, yes my dear readers, I do so evade her at every opportunity.
Lest I be chased again!
Lest the satanic grip of ancient mouldy cobwebbed death
should take me from the wicked clutches
of the demon-possessed ‘Chasey Lady’
Peace be the Botendaddy